


Looked So Exposed

by GotTheSilver



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, First Kiss, Frottage, M/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag for 3.02.</p>
<p>
  <i>Stiles is still here, he can hear him pacing, words being mumbled in the echoing caverns of the loft, and Derek’s so tired, doesn’t know if he has the energy to deal with the questions Stiles will inevitably have.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looked So Exposed

**Author's Note:**

> Title from AFI - Darling I Want To Destroy You because of my secret goth past.

Derek stands outside the door of his loft, listening quietly to the single heartbeat inside. It’s Stiles, not Peter, and Derek has no idea what to do about that. He pushes the door open and walks in, startling Stiles, who jumps up from where he was leaning against the table.

“What are you still doing here?”

“Peter left and I...” Stiles cuts himself off and shrugs. “It sounded bad on the phone. I wanted to check that you were—I don’t know.”

“I’m fine,” Derek says, stripping his shredded, blood soaked shirt off over his head.

“Yeah, I don’t think you are.”

Derek turns his back on Stiles and heads towards the bathroom. He stops a few steps away, saying “I’m taking a shower. You can stay here if you want, but I’m not talking about tonight,” before he walks away, leaving Stiles standing in the middle of the loft. Switching on the shower, he disrobes, his jeans are ruined and he rummages around in the drawer for a pair of sweatpants he’s thrown in there for times likes these. He’s not adverse to walking around naked, but doing that in front of Stiles seems cruel.

Standing in the shower, he scrubs hard at his body, staring at his feet as the blood washes down the drain. His blood, Boyd’s blood, _Cora’s_ blood and, fuck, does he ever not want to think about that. They’re out there, somewhere, and he has to track them down, has to stop them from hurting people, has to stop his baby sister from killing people. He rubs his hands through his hair, pale red water running down his face from the blood caught in his hair. It blurs his vision, and it strikes him how familiar washing blood from his body has become, how he’s used to this, even has a routine for it.

Stiles is still here, he can hear him pacing, words being mumbled in the echoing caverns of the loft, and Derek’s so tired, doesn’t know if he has the energy to deal with the questions Stiles will inevitably have. He steps out of the shower, roughly towel drying his body enough to pull on the sweatpants; his hair is still damp, cool droplets running down his back and he rubs the towel over his head a few times before dropping it on the floor.

“Hey,” Stiles says when Derek walks back into the room. “You look better, not that the covered in blood look doesn’t work for you, but I think you’ll get a more positive response from people like this.”

Derek ignores him and sits on his bed, legs outstretched in front of him. “What do you want, Stiles?”

“I told you, to make sure you’re okay. Scott said—your sister?” Stiles says it in a quiet voice, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to say the words and Derek doesn’t know what to make of that.

“It’s not Scott’s problem.”

Stiles nods, sitting on the floor next to the bed, his legs crossed as he looks up at Derek. “Do you, I know you said you didn’t, but if you want to talk about it? I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“What is there to say?” Derek says.

“Your sister? I didn’t know, I mean, I knew you had more family members but—you should probably stop me before I put my foot in my mouth. She’s younger than you?”

Derek sighs, not seeing a way out of talking about this. He could, admittedly, throw Stiles out, but for some reason that’s not an appealing option. Instead, he falls backwards onto the bed, not wanting to look at Stiles while he talks. He can hear Stiles shuffling, thinks maybe he’s laying on his stomach next to the bed. “Yeah,” he says. “She was—is—younger than me. Your age.”

“What was she like?”

“She was a brat.” Derek smiles when he hears Stiles’ surprised burst of laughter. “Constantly following me around, stealing stuff from my room. One time, I got home from school and found her curled up on the couch with my favourite hoodie wrapped around her like a blanket.” He fists his hands in the sheets, that sudden, warm image contrasted in his head with the ones from tonight, her claws slashing at his skin. “Stiles, I can’t—”

“Okay,” Stiles says quietly. There’s a dip on the mattress as Stiles climbs onto the bed and sits by him. Derek can feel the heat of Stiles’ hand as it hovers over his arm, feels something in his stomach twist when Stiles touches his skin. “I’m guessing tonight wasn’t a great reunion judging by how much of you was covered in blood.”

Derek chokes on an involuntary laugh. “She was almost feral as soon as the moonlight hit her,” he says slowly. “She tried to get us to run, but the mountain ash—now I don’t know where she is.” He closes his eyes, trying to avoid Stiles’ eyes on him. “I have to find her, and Boyd, and I don’t know what will happen when I do.”

“I should’ve checked it, what the walls of the vault were made of, then you wouldn’t—” Stiles sighs, and Derek can hear him running his hands through his hair. When he opens his eyes, Stiles is chewing on his bottom lip, his brow furrowed as he stares down at Derek.

“You couldn’t know, Stiles.”

“It’s an Alpha pack, Derek, I should’ve realised they would have a _reason_ for keeping them in there, that they’ve got a plan aside from biting and terror.” Stiles shakes his head. “I really fucking hate that it was Peter who made me realise.”

Derek snorts. “Scared that you and Peter make a good pair?”

“Ugh,” Stiles groans, mock shuddering. “Reanimated murderers not really my thing.”

“Noted.” Derek’s fully aware that Stiles’ hand is still on his arm and he doesn’t want to admit that he likes it. The casual touching from Stiles is new and he almost had to rewire his brain so he didn’t punch Stiles each time he did it, but now he’s used to it. In his weaker moments, he’ll admit that he likes that he has someone to do this with, someone who isn’t required to follow him as part of his pack, someone who for whatever reason wants to be around him. Derek would be hard pressed to remember the last person he had that with.

“Do you,” Stiles stops talking and then clenches his jaw. “Are you going out to look for them now?”

“I need a nap,” Derek says. He barely gets the words out before Stiles starts to move, talking about leaving and Derek—he doesn’t want that. With everything that’s gone on tonight, he just wants something to hang on to. “Stiles, wait.”

Stiles has one foot off the bed as he looks at Derek, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Stay.” Derek waves a hand in the air. “Just. Stay.”

“Oh.”

“If you want.” Derek sits up and takes Stiles’ hand. “I know what I’m asking from you here, and if you don’t—”

“Who said I didn’t?” Stiles says immediately. “I didn’t say that.”

“Okay,” Derek says cautiously.

“Right.” Stiles shakes off Derek’s hand, strips down to his boxers and t shirt quickly, tugging at the blankets pointedly until Derek yanks at them and they’re able to curl up underneath. It’s not so odd having Stiles near him like this, somewhere along the way Derek has got used to him being around, pushing and poking at every little thing. Derek loops an arm around Stiles’ waist as he shuffles closer, heads sharing a pillow, their faces so close he can count every one of Stiles’ eyelashes.

“This okay?” Derek asks, the tips of his fingers stroking underneath Stiles’ t shirt.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispers. “Whatever you need.”

Their lips are brushing together, noses nudging and Derek can’t resist any longer. He leans forward and closes the tiny gap between them, his mouth pressing against Stiles’. A broken moan echos from Stiles’ mouth as he opens up, Derek sliding his tongue against Stiles’; it’s hot and messy and Derek can’t get enough. Stiles’ lips are slightly chapped, his blunt fingernails digging into Derek’s shoulders and their legs are tangling together. They kiss for a while longer before Stiles pulls back slightly, his pupils blown wide, his lips and cheeks flushed red.

“This isn’t napping,” Stiles says.

“Yeah.”

“Come on.” Stiles pushes gently at Derek until he’s on his back, tucks himself under Derek’s arm, resting his head against Derek’s chest. “Nap.”

Derek snorts. “You really think you can tell me what to do?”

“I’ve got dirt on you now Hale,” Stiles says, tapping his fingers against Derek’s stomach. “I’ve got ways to persuade you.”

“Keep thinking that.”

Stiles is quiet for a moment and Derek grazes his fingers against his skin, soaking in the scent of Stiles in his bed, on his skin. “Derek?” Stiles shifts slightly, his face turning into Derek’s chest. “This is going to be bad isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Derek says quietly. “It is.”

“If there’s a way—if I can help you—don’t shut me out, okay?”

“Couldn’t if I tried.”

*

Derek slowly wakes up to the sight of Stiles’ face deep in sleep, eyelashes casting long shadows on his cheeks. It’s a sight he’d be happy to see every time he wakes up. He shuffles closer and nudges at Stiles’ face, kissing his slack lips until Stiles starts mumbling. “D’rek?”

“Yeah.”

“Nap over?” Stiles mumbles, his eyes still closed.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Stiles says as he opens his eyes, blinking the sleep from them. “You gotta go?”

“I can take a moment.”

“Yeah?”

Derek kisses Stiles, not caring about the stale sleep taste because it’s all _Stiles_. He groans against Stiles’ mouth when Stiles slips his knee between Derek’s legs. They’re both hard, clothed cocks brushing together, and it feels incredible. “Stiles, Stiles, wait,” he says between kisses.

“What?” Stiles asks, his lips resting against Derek’s lips.

“You want this?” Derek asks.

“You seriously need me to answer that?” Stiles laughs, his thigh up against Derek’s crotch.

“Good,” Derek says, rolling them over, his body pressing Stiles into the mattress. He shoves his face into Stiles’ neck, inhaling Stiles’ scent as he rolls his hips, cataloguing each of Stiles’ reactions. It’s intoxicating hearing Stiles’ bitten off moans that Derek knows are a result of having to jerk off quietly in his room at home.

“Derek, Derek, can we—” Stiles’ hands are in the waistband of Derek’s sweatpants and Derek gets the message, rocks up a little so Stiles can shove them down before he shoves his own boxers down and strips his t shirt off. When Derek flattens himself against Stiles’ body, he gasps out loud, the sensation of skin on skin almost too much for him.

“Perfect,” he says, his mouth inches from Stiles’ face. “You—you’re, _Stiles_ ,” he breathes out.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, gazing up at Derek, his fingers digging into Derek’s arms. “You too.”

Their cocks are rubbing together, pre-come mixing between them and Stiles is shoving up, Derek’s lips brushing against Stiles’ face with each movement. The sheets and blankets are bunching around them, both of them sweating, noises echoing throughout the loft. Stiles grips Derek’s hand tightly, his face screwing up with pleasure as Derek grinds against him. It only takes a few more circles of his hips before Stiles groans, his body jerking as he comes. Derek pushes his cock against Stiles’ stomach through the mess of come and sweat, before he whines, coming with his mouth open against Stiles’, both of them breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” Derek says, his hand still entwined with Stiles’ as he rolls off him.

“Uh huh.” Stiles rolls onto his side and holds his head up with his elbow, looking down at Derek. “We’re doing that again, right?”

“Now?”

Stiles laughs, it fills the loft and Derek loves it. He runs his hand down Stiles’ stomach, getting his fingers covered in their combined spunk.

“What are you—Jesus, Derek.”

Derek licks at his fingers, his eyes locked with Stiles’ as he cleans his hand; when he’s done, Stiles scrambles on top of him, kissing him deeply. He can feel Stiles’ tongue searching out their combined tastes and, not for the first time, he wonders if there’s more than a little wolf in Stiles.

They kiss a bit longer before Stiles sits up, his ass resting against Derek’s crotch. He runs his hands down Derek’s chest and sighs. “You have to go, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Let me up,” Derek says, tapping at Stiles’ leg. He walks off and wets a cloth in the bathroom, running it down his body before bringing it out and throwing it at Stiles. “Clean up.”

Stiles catches it with a grin and wipes himself up. They dress quickly, Derek throwing a t shirt at Stiles, feeling something settle in him when Stiles puts it on without questioning.

“Hey,” Stiles says, catching him at the door before he opens it. “Be safe.”

Derek stops, his hands hanging by his side. It’s been a really long time since anyone has said that to him and meant it. He steps closer, Stiles backing up against the wall, his eyes wide with laughter. Hands on Stiles’ hips, Derek leans in and kisses him softly, sighing when Stiles’ arms go around his neck, holding him close. “I’ll try,” he mumbles against Stiles’ lips. “I’ll try.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/), where I mostly have daily breakdowns over Hoechlin's face and Dylan's everything.


End file.
